House of Bones
by Razzaroo
Summary: Chronos has fallen and Creed has won. The Chronos Numbers are scattered across multiple cities, being hunted one by one. Unlikely and uneasy alliances are formed as those who are free strive to regain what has been lost. Alternate ending, set in the mangaverse. Genre and rating may change.
1. Prologue

**A/N. I finally got the first part done. This has been brewing for a while and this first chapter took many attempts before I was finally happy with it. I don't own any of these characters or locations, I'm just borrowing them for a little while.**

* * *

_One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes a revolution in order to establish a dictatorship. __**George Orwell.**_

* * *

Fire. Fire was how it all ended; fire was how the world was changed forever. Fire was how Chronos ended.

Kranz had been with Baldor when it happened and had been forced to leave him behind when it ended.

His hands still feel sticky with blood and he rubs them on his knees, trying to clean them off on the fabric of his trousers. He has no idea where he is; he'd been brought in and dumped in what is probably a cell without a word being spoken to him. His helmet is gone, probably destroyed. He wonders if any of the others are here, if they're even still alive.

His throat constricts at the thought that Baldor probably didn't survive, not with that knife wound. Though it would probably have been a kinder death than one by public execution which is surely the one Kranz faces.

He sighs and leans his head against the wall; at least he won't be able to _see _anyone. It's a small mercy. A Chronos Number should be killed only in defence of Chronos and its goals, not shot like an animal in front of a crowd.

There's the sound of a door opening but Kranz makes no move to acknowledge it. Heavy footsteps move towards him and he's pulled to his feet by a pair of strong hands that dig into his upper arms and are sure to leave bruises.

"Come on, Number." The voice is gruff but muffled, "The boss has a plan for you."

Kranz smirks, "Your boss has plans for everyone."

The hands tighten their hold on him as he's shoved out into what is probably a hallway. There's no sound except for their footsteps. It bothers him; he can't discern anything about his surroundings if there's no sound. He likes the quiet but complete silence is almost disturbing.

He's escorted through a door that hisses as it opens before his head is yanked downwards and a needle is pushed into the back of his neck. He panics and manages to pull away but his legs give out underneath him and his knees hit the ground hard. Someone tuts behind him and withdraws the needle, discarding the empty syringe.

"My, that works faster than I thought." This voice was cold and smooth, "What a pleasant surprise."

Kranz is hauled to his feet again and forced forward on shaky legs. He's pushed down and strapped onto a table. Everything's gone numb from the injection and no matter what he does, he can't make any move to break out of the restraints.

He hears the snap of rubber gloves and he has to swallow down his fear; he hasn't been afraid in a long time and the feeling itself unnerves him. It's a cold feeling that makes him shake before finally settling in the pit of his stomach, like a heavy lead weight. The last time he'd felt it, he'd been on the ground, his hands covering his face and damaged eyes.

Of course, the men who'd blinded him didn't have a chance to touch him again; a furious Baldor was something like a one man army. And Kranz had woken up in hospital a week later with bandages covering his face and Baldor slumped in a chair at his side.

There's no such comfort or security this time.

"All right, we'll get started now. I'll be your doctor for this morning." It's the same cold voice as before, sounding amused, "Feel free to call me, well, Doctor."

The doctor chuckles at that before slipping a thick strip of leather between Kranz's teeth. He brushes Kranz's hair away from his eyes and there's the sound of a surgical cart being wheeled forwards.

"I'm not sure if you'll feel any pain from this," the Doctor continues, "But if you do, bite down on that and not on your tongue."

Kranz flinches at the touch of the cold rubber gloves at his eyes, gently holding his eyelids open to examine his eyes. The hands move away and he hears a button being pressed down on a tape recorder.

"This patient," the Doctor says, tearing some surgical tape and using it to tape Kranz's eyelids open, "Is suffering from blindness caused by an unknown attack with an unknown substance."

There's a pause and Kranz can feel his eyes starting to water. The Doctor sighs and something is set down on the cart before the Doctor starts speaking again.

"This patient is completely blind in both eyes," the Doctor continues, "Hopefully, this can be remedied through the use of regenerative nanomachines. Previous tests have shown that the nanomachines these are based on can assist in replacing tissue and bone that has been completely lost. Considering the capabilities already displayed by the nanomachines I've worked with, I'm confident that these will be able to reverse the damage here."

Kranz keeps his breathing as even as possible, concentrating on that rather than the thought of nanomachines. The idea is unsettling at the very least. He knows what nanomachines can do, what they had already been used for.

The cold hands are back and he feels that sense of unease that comes from someone looming over him. Dread has settled in the pit of his stomach like a lump of ice. The feeling is almost alien to him.

"The nanomachines will be applied in a liquid solution," the Doctor says, "Via an eyedropper."

The liquid that drips onto Kranz's left eye is cold and he instinctively flinches, trying to blink it away. The Doctor tuts and more drops follow before it's repeated on his right eye. He tries to lift his hands to rub at his eyes but, no matter what he does, his limbs remain unresponsive.

The table moves, making a mechanical whirring sound, so he's propped up in a sitting position. The Doctor removes the surgical tape and covers Kranz's eyes with a soft blindfold.

"I'll be back to see your progress in the morning," the Doctor says, "The effects of the injection should will have worn off before then; we'll leave that leather in just in case."

Kranz heard the medical cart being wheeled out of the room and footsteps walking away from him. The door opens again and the cart is taken away after a few murmured words.

"I'll see you in the morning," the Doctor said, the tone of his voice making Kranz grind his teeth in annoyance, "Sleep well."

The door hissed shut again and Kranz was left on his own, strapped to a table and with prickling in his eyes.


	2. The Quest

**A/N. And here is chapter two. Gaps between updates will probably be longer from here onwards; this story is really deviating from my original plan so yeah. That and I have other projects; apologies in advance. On a side note, it's likely that any quotes used at the beginning of chapters will be from The Last Unicorn, both film and book (this may or may not be related to aforementioned deviating.)**

* * *

_"Where you are going now," Schmendrick answered, "few will mean you anything but __evil__, and a friendly __heart__— however foolish — may be as welcome as water one day. Take me with you, for __laughs__, for __luck__, for the unknown. Take me with you."_

* * *

The news is nothing but bad news lately. Baldor leans against the headboard behind him, one hand covering the still-raw scar on his stomach, listening as the newsreader reels off the latest headlines. Rinslet Walker's in the en suite bathroom, showering.

"_The Shooting Star units of the Apostles of the Star are still working on weeding out the remnants of Chronos from the city," _the newsreader is saying, her face impassive, "_Just last week, they arrested a group of Erasers in an old warehouse in the industrial district. They will face trial on Friday."_

Rinslet comes out of the bathroom in a dark red dressing gown and a towel around her shoulders. She sees that he's absently massaging the scar and she frowns.

"Does that still hurt?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No," he says, scowling, "Where were you?"

Rinslet stares at him, surprised, "On a job. We need to get you out of the city and that can't happen without funds. And I went to The Hanging Tree to talk to a contact there."

Baldor doesn't reply. The newsreader is still talking about Chronos and Rinslet catches a glimpse of a familiar face on the screen. She reaches to turn up the volume and sits cross-legged alongside Baldor, twisting the hem of the dressing gown in her hands.

"…_the Chronos Numbers in particular should be approached with caution as they are extremely dangerous. The current whereabouts of the remaining Numbers are unknown but the Shooting Star units have made it their priority to find these people and remove them."_

The screen behind the newsreader is displaying the wanted posters of the Numbers that the Apostles know are alive. Baldor's surprised to see himself on the screen; he'd assumed that the Apostles thought he was dead. Rinslet is more occupied with the fact that Jenos Hazard is listed as a threat.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Rinslet says when the newsreader moves onto the next story.

"If you're thinking of us leaving so you can look for him," Baldor says, looking up at the ceiling, "You must also want to play a game of treasure hunt against the Apostles. They more than likely have an idea of where he is. And the others too. Leave looking for the other Numbers to me and hide yourself somewhere safe to ride out this whole mess."

"You're not giving him enough credit," Rinslet says, "They're probably all far from here by now. And I think you might be underestimating me as well."

"And _you're_ underestimating your enemy. Creed's a persistent bastard; if he wants all the Chronos Numbers hunted down, he'll do his best to make sure it happens. It might take longer than he'd like but, from his point of view, he has all the time in the world. And he's got his informants and allies in other towns. You're smart, why aren't you thinking of this?"

She gives him a withering look, "I _did._ But being optimistic tends to be better for my moods lately."

The sirens are sounding outside, signalling the start of curfew and the "all-clear" for their part of town. Rinslet sighs and draws the curtains, turning off the news and switching on the radio instead. It's easier to tune into the channels that don't support the Apostles on the radio; the broadcasts come from other cities and are usually poor but Creed doesn't bother to police them, not yet.

The program that comes through the speakers crackles and Rinslet adjusts the aerial to get a better signal. The presenter is broadcasting from Cashmere, presenting the news about the situation with the advancing Apostles.

"So, do you have any ideas on where you want to go?" Rinslet asks. Baldor looks at her, one eyebrow raised.

"No?" he says, "Why?"

"Well, since you're healed up now," Rinslet says, "We can get you out of here. Is there anywhere you're particularly fond of?"

"No," he says again, "Chronos is gone and I have no home to go back to; the Apostles probably got to it already."

The pair of them lapse into an awkward pause. The radio continues in the background, the signal occasionally faltering, causing the broadcast to be interrupted by white noise and crackling. The news coming from Cashmere paints a picture almost as hopeless as the one on the news station; the rumours of pockets of resistance do very little to improve it.

"We could go to Cashmere," Baldor says eventually, "It's a good enough start."

"You don't think the Apostles will lock onto that as target?" Rinslet asks, "It is, well, _was _a city under Chronos's control, yes?"

"Well, yeah, but there's nothing there. No industry, no big headquarters, not even a big amount of crime."

He stands and Rinslet notes how he hunches over slightly, curling in as if trying to protect where he'd been stabbed. She turns away and peers through the gap in the curtains down at the street below; one of the Apostles' trucks is going down the street, ensuring that the curfew is being obeyed.

Baldor stretches and the hem of his shirt lifts, showing the angry red scar tissue that runs from just above his hipbone to just under his navel. There's a sharp twinge of pain and he hisses, hunching over again to try and ease it. Rinslet looks at him, her expression almost pitying.

"I'll see if Annette has something for you," she says, moving towards the door, "Painkillers or a heatpack or something like that."

"Don't bother," he says, stepping away from her when she moves to check on the scar, "It comes and goes. When did you want to leave?"

Rinslet purses her lips but doesn't say anything about him shying away from her; although she's used to it, she'd almost hoped that they had some form of trust with each other, shaky and fragile like a bridge built of ice.

"We can go tomorrow," she says, tucking her hands behind her back to show that she won't move to touch him again, "When they sound the last all clear. And I'm staying with you; I have someone I want to find as well."

He sighs, "Whatever you say."

Rinslet's surprised; she'd expected a lot more resistance from him. He'd resisted her cleaning his injuries, resisted the doctor Annette had brought in to treat him. The doctor had walked away with a few bruises and a substantial bonus for his troubles while Annette had told Rinslet that she could leave the care of a bad-tempered Number out of Annette's business next time; she didn't want to need to replace any more furniture.

"No arguments? Are you feeling all right?"

Baldor stares at her, his harsh gaze making her uncomfortable, before he replies, "I owe you my life. You're the one who found me and brought me here. You're the one who made sure I didn't die from bleeding out or infection. Without you, I'd be six feet under; do you really think I have any room to refuse you anything?"

He looks surprised at his own words and he flushes red before he glares at her, "And don't you even _think_ of repeating that to _anyone_. That stays between us, understand?"

Rinslet crosses her heart, smiling a little, "I promise; not a word, so long as you make sure not to leave me behind. You never know; you might just end up needing me again."


	3. The Cat

**A/N. Ah, to anyone reading this, I'm going to advise you not to get used to quick updates. I have a rough little plan that helps me write this out faster than my other fics but I have school coming up so priorities will have to shift towards that rather than writing.**

**Edit: It's been called to my attention that my, uh...timeline, I s'pose is a good word, is a little iffy. Just to clear things up, this chapter (and the one before) takes place a couple of months after the prologue.**

* * *

_The cat yawned again. "Near and far, far and near," he murmured, "They are within reach of your lady's eyes, but almost out of reach of her memory. They are coming closer, and they are going away."_

* * *

Kranz can't remember the last time he was outside of the Apostles' walls. He's watched constantly, by Creed's foot soldiers, by the other Apostles, by Creed himself. When it's Creed, there's a constant prickling on the back of his neck and up and down his spine. Creed hardly speaks; he just watches, smiling the whole time.

Kranz is in the small garden that Creed keeps, running his fingers over petals, stems and leaves. Having his sight back is still so alien to him and using his hands as a substitute is almost second nature. He can see it all: the colours of the petals, bright and vivid; the shapes of the leaves and the thorns on the stems. He's wanted his sight back for a long time but, no matter what, he can't bring himself to forsake his hands.

He hears the footsteps approaching long before he's jabbed in the side, a gesture that's almost playful. He reaches out and seizes hold of the wrist of the hand that poked him and turns to glare at Train Heartnet.

"What do you want?" he says, his voice cold, his grip on Train's wrist tightening.

"Some company," Train replies, prising Kranz's hand from his wrist, "I'll go _insane_ if I have to go to Creed just for some human contact; you're my only hope, no matter how nuts you are."

Train follows him around the garden, passing the occasional comment. Kranz ignores him for the most part. He knows that Creed is watching from one of the windows, hiding himself from view. When Creed is in, he watches Train wherever he goes, like an animal stalking its prey.

When they reach the wall, a towering structure that casts them in shade, Kranz stops in his tracks. He can hear the sound of crashing waves on the other side of the wall and he frowns.

"Yeah, we're by the sea," Train says, looking up at the top of the wall, "I think it's to keep people in rather than to keep people out. Further from home than you thought, huh?"

Kranz runs a hand over the wall, feeling the rough stone. It's made out of granite and it reminds Kranz of the pictures of fairytale castles from the books of his childhood. He smirks at the thought; this is nothing like a fairytale and it's absurd that that's what the wall reminds him of.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, turning his gaze on Train.

Train knocks on the wall, his mouth quirking up into a smile, "What would you do if this wasn't here?"

"What do you think I would do?"

"I think you'd jump."

Kranz raises an eyebrow, "You think my situation's that hopeless?"

"Not like that," Train rolls his eyes, as if he thought his statement was completely unambiguous, "You'd swim. The cliff's not big and you're crazy enough to do it."

There's a pause before Train carries on, "It's got its weak spots, though. You just need to know where to look for them; they weren't that hard for me to find, to be honest. Don't tell anyone I said that, all right?"

Kranz doesn't reply. He's turned his attention back to the wall, sizing it up. It isn't smooth but there's nothing that can be used as a foothold for scaling it. The top is ridged with sharp lumps of granite that would be problematic if he could climb the wall but not impossible to get past.

Train glances back down along the garden and nudges Kranz in warning. Kranz turns to see Creed making his way down the garden, sword hanging at his side, and his mouth goes dry.

"Just the man I wanted to see," Creed says when he reaches them, "And Train too, of course."

"You want to see me?" Kranz can't keep the disbelief out of his voice; in all the time he's been there, Creed's never approached him. Any contact consisted of comments in passing, usually coming from Creed himself.

Creed heaves a sigh, "I want a lot of things. Maybe talking to you will help me to get one of those things."

He smiles at Train, "Dear Train, do you mind leaving us for a little while? I'll make it up to you later; I just need this conversation to be private."

Train's expression is a blend of confusion and a touch of disgust. He leaves, casting a glance back at Creed as he goes.

"What did you want me for?" Kranz says once Train is gone, his back pressed against the wall.

"Just a small favour," Creed replies, "I want you to help us find the last of your…kind. My force can only do so much and those Numbers have hidden themselves surprisingly well."

"And you think that _I_ know where they are?"

"I assumed you'd have some idea," Creed says with a slight shrug, "Surely you know enough about them to have a clue about where they would feel safe."

"And say I do know," Kranz says, watching Creed for any sudden mood changes, "What makes you think I'll cooperate with you?"

"I have my ways," Creed says. He reaches into his coat and draws out a familiar knife. He smirks when he sees Kranz's expression change from neutral to a scowl. "It's a pretty little thing, isn't it?"

"Is that one of your methods?" Kranz says, not taking his eyes off of Mars, "Because it's not a good one."

Creed's smile grows and he turns the knife over in his hands, running one finger along the edge of it, "You could say it's part of it; if you cooperate, you get it back. If you don't…well, you and I both know that knives don't just have one master."

Kranz doesn't acknowledge the comment and Creed takes it as a small victory. He traces the shape of the blade with one finger before trailing it down the handle as well. Kranz glares at him and had he been anyone else, Creed feels that he would have withered beneath that glare. But he's not anyone else; he's Creed Diskenth, leader of the Apostles of the Star and the conqueror of Chronos. He doesn't wither in front of anyone, not any more.

"So what do you say?" he says, gently holding the knife by the blade, the handle pointing towards Kranz, "Will you help us have a Chronos Number reunion?"

Kranz glances at Mars and then to Creed's face. While he aches to have Mars back and have his arm be complete again, the idea of cooperating with Creed and the Apostles to hunt down the remaining Numbers reeks of betrayal. He draws himself up to his full height, holding himself as proudly as possible, and keeps his face as neutral as possible.

"You can threaten me if you like," he says, his voice unwavering, "But I won't betray Chronos and the rules it held; I won't go against my fellow Numbers and hunt them down for your amusement."

Creed's grin doesn't fade; in fact, it grows and his eyes brighten. He slips Mars back into his inside pocket and leans in close to Kranz.

"Oh but you already have betrayed Chronos and its rules," he purrs into Kranz's ear, "Have you already forgotten _killing _your closest comrade on the day Chronos fell?"


	4. The Men At Arms

**A/N. Oh, wow, sorry for the wait on this. I wanted to have it up at some point last month but I had a really rubbish and stressy September this year, trying to balance college, a part time job and writing. Hopefully October will be kinder to me :) Now I'm not entirely happy with this chapter; I might end up rewriting it at some point, if and when this fic is finished. **

* * *

"_My lady," said the oldest of the men, "command your servants. We are used men, spent men—but if you would see miracles, you have only to request the impossible of us. We will become young again if you wish it so." His three comrades muttered their agreement._

* * *

There are places in the city that even the Apostles don't go, places that are safe from them. The lorry depot that Rinslet takes Baldor to is one of them.

It's old and the bitumen needs replacing. The lorries themselves are faded and some of them have peeling paint. Rinslet steers Baldor around them and stops outside the door of the run-down building that serves as the office. She gives him a quick once-over and adjusts the too-long blue scarf that hides the numeral tattoo on the side of his neck.

"Well, you're no Sven," she says, "But you're passable. And remember to let me do the talking."

She opens the door and steps inside. Baldor glances over his shoulder to check that no one had followed them, a habit more than anything, before he follows her, tugging at the scarf around his neck.

The inside of the building is much less run-down than the outside. The floor is covered with an old worn out carpet and the vertical blinds are grimy but everything else is clean and neatly organised. There's a woman sitting behind a desk, her feet up on the surface and reading a magazine.

"What do you want?" she asks, not even looking up from her magazine.

"To get something out of the city," Rinslet says, giving Baldor a look warning him to keep quiet, "And I was told this was the place to go."

"Mm?" the woman glances up at them, "And what do you need to move? There's nothin' too big or too small."

Rinslet puts on her sweetest smile, "Mind if we talk about this somewhere more private?"

The woman sighs and puts down her magazine. She opens a drawer in the desk and draws out a ring of keys, standing up and unlocking the door to the back office. She beckons to them to follow her and Rinslet crosses her fingers behind her back before following the other woman.

"The only time people ever want to talk _privately_," the woman says while Baldor closes the door behind him, "Is if they want to move something that they don't want people to know about. We'll move it for you but first we need to know what your dirty little secret is."

Rinslet glances at Baldor but he doesn't say anything. She hasn't told him anything about these people; he hadn't even known this place had existed before today. She'd organised the plan to get out of the city with Annette, using information she'd gotten from sweepers in the Hanging Tree and in Annette's café. Baldor had stayed holed up in an apartment, bored and frustrated that Rinslet wasn't telling him anything.

"I need to get him out," Rinslet says, slipping an arm around Baldor's waist and pushing him forwards, "As soon as possible. Today, if you can."

The woman looks Baldor up and down before she looks at Rinslet, her expression doubtful, "What's so special about him? Trying to outrun someone?"

"You could say that," Baldor says stiffly. He hates that it can be called running from someone; running is the coward's way out.

"Yeah?" the woman's mouth turns up in a slight smile, "Who are you then?"

He pulls the scarf away from his neck and shows the woman the numeral tattoo. Her eyes widen and Rinslet's expression looks oddly satisfied.

"Chronos?" the woman says, looking from Baldor to Rinslet, "You brought a Chronos Number _here_?"

"I was told you've been helping people get out of the city," Rinslet says, butting in before Baldor can say anything, "People who are in danger from the Apostles. Can you help us?"

She's holding her handbag close and one of her hands hovers by her hip, ready to move to draw the pistol out from its hiding place in her bag if anything goes wrong. Baldor hasn't seen her this tense, not even on his worst days when it looked like the money she'd spent on the doctor was going down the drain.

The woman heaves a shuddering sigh before looking Baldor straight in the eye, "I don't agree with what Chronos did and I don't think I ever will. But more than that, I despise what the Apostles are doing to this city, to everything they touch. So yes, I'll help you, because what's left of Chronos might be the only thing that can get people to stop the Apostles. And God knows that you need all the help you can get."

Baldor feels the tension run out of him and he feels his shoulders slump. He wraps the scarf back around his neck, hiding his number away again. Rinslet claps him on the shoulder and grins at him; he shrugs her hand off and turns away, leaving her to talk to the woman about leaving the city.

He has no idea how they're going to manage it. The city's boundaries are crawling with Apostles and he's heard on the news of random searches that cause hours of traffic jams.

"It's going to be risky," the woman says, "Since they use dogs now. But we've figured out a way around that. When we found out about the dogs, we were stumped for a bit but someone figured it out. The dogs haven't caught anyone yet."

The woman takes her keys off of a hook by the door and goes out into the parking area. She approaches a vehicle with faded blue paint and looks back at Rinslet, who's hovering in the doorway to the office building.

"If there's anything else you want to take," she says, "You better let me know now. I charge for extra."

"There's nothing else," Rinslet replies, wrapping her coat around herself and joining the woman alongside the lorry, "Is there a reason for something so…big?"

"It's not usually used for moving people," the woman says, "It's for furniture."

Rinslet blushes red from embarrassment but the other woman doesn't notice. She's watching Baldor, who's standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and toying with the ends of the scarf. He looks bored.

"If you don't mind me asking," Rinslet says eventually, "But you agreed to help without any questions. Why?"

"Because it's saving someone's life," the woman says almost instantly, "Because it's the right thing to do. You never know, it might make an impression on him."

Rinslet snorts, "If you can make any sort of impression on _him_, I'll personally nominate you for sainthood."

* * *

Rinslet's been on a lot of dangerous jobs over her career; jobs that make her palms sweat and her heart race and she doesn't feel at ease until after the goods are handed over and she's at home with her hefty pay. She's even been on a very dangerous job involving Chronos Numbers and Apostles, although it could be considered her least successful, considering the current situation.

However, she can't remember ever feeling like this before.

They're heading towards the city boundaries, with Baldor stashed in a hidden compartment in the back, and Rinslet's heart is in her throat. She feels ill and that feeling only increases as they draw closer to the checkpoint, where the lorry will be searched. She toys with the ends of her wig, trying to distract herself. The woman beside her looks at ease, though, slowing the lorry down and shifting gear as they get closer.

"You sure we'll be all right?" Rinslet asks as the lorry slows to a stop, "With him in the back, I mean."

"We should be just fine," the woman murmurs, "Those drugs should have knocked him out by now."

Rinslet bites her lip, "I still don't think you needed to drug him. He can be quiet when he needs to be."

"People tend to be quieter when they're unconscious. We can't have something as simple as coughs or hiccups giving us away, can we?" the woman's tone is dry and she narrows her eyes as she spots some of the Apostles' foot soldiers coming towards them. "Now stay put and keep that wig on. I'll see to this."

She turns off the engine and gets out of the lorry, slamming the door behind her. She approaches the soldiers and Rinslet winds the window down so she can catch what they're saying. One of the soldiers has a dog with him; the animal strains against its chain, trying to sniff at the woman's pocket.

"We have to search your vehicle," one of the soldiers says, his voice muffled, "In the interest of the city's security."

"Of course," the woman says, nodding. She reaches into her pocket and draws out her wallet to show her ID. In doing so, she also draws out a plain white handkerchief, pressed up against the wallet. She passes the wallet over to the soldier so he can verify her and the handkerchief falls to the ground, slipping between her fingers.

The dog lunges forward, the soldier lurching forward as the animal moves, and presses its nose against the handkerchief. Rinslet watches, almost disbelieving, as the dog loses interest almost immediately, sitting back on its haunches and panting.

The woman apologises and picks the handkerchief back up, offering an explanation that Rinslet can't hear as another lorry pulls up behind them. The soldier brushes it off and hands the woman back her wallet before going around the back of the lorry, opening it up and climbing inside.

Rinslet bows her head and waits for the inevitable discovery. She hears the soldiers boots and the movement of the dog and she waits for them to find him, for them to shout and have their guns pointed at her head.

But it never comes.

She hears the doors slam shut and the soldiers move on to the next vehicle. The woman clambers up next to her again, her expression smug and satisfied, slamming the door after her.

"What did you do to the dog?" Rinslet hisses as the engine starts up again, "What was in that handkerchief?"

"Just one of our little tricks," the woman says, easing the lorry forwards and past the boundary set up by the Apostles, "And not the most legal one either. It's covered in a mix of cocaine and dried chicken's blood. Works like a charm."

Rinslet stares at her, "Cocaine? Really?"

"I told you it wasn't legal."

Rinslet goes quiet for a moment, staring out the window and she almost can't believe that they're past the boundary. It was almost _too_ easy and a heavy feeling settles in her stomach. This isn't the last time they'll encounter the Apostles and their soldiers, she can feel it.

"Is he all right back there?" she asks eventually, her thoughts returning to Baldor, "Is he awake?"

The woman smiles and shakes her head, "No. That was some strong stuff I gave him back there."

"Are you going to let him out any time soon?"

"Nah. He's had worse." There's another pause and Rinslet finds herself plucking at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt before the woman continues, "Besides, I don't want to have to deal with him when he wakes up."

Rinslet raises an eyebrow, "Care to explain?"

"He is going to have one hell of a sore head when he wakes up."

Rinslet grimaces and looks out of the window again. He was bad enough without what basically amounted to a hangover.

"So you're leaving me to deal with him," she mutters, her forehead pressed against the window, "That's just _great."_


End file.
